


Wedding Bell Blues

by ceallaig



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Return to Treasure Island (TV 1996)
Genre: M/M, Wedding, mother of the bridezilla, wedding photography
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 20:23:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9674609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceallaig/pseuds/ceallaig
Summary: For WinterFRE2017, from prompt 136: You're the photographer, I'm the best man. this wedding is a cluster fuck,let's get out of here.It's Francis and Elizabeth's big day, and Mama Chynoweth is the ultimate mother of the bridezilla. The only bright spot in best man Ross' day is the hunky photographer hired for the event.





	

**Author's Note:**

> All musical groups/musicians mentioned in the story are actual people except for Jormungand, which is the creation of the wonderful lakritzwolf, who gave me permission to use her band. Check out her [story cycle](http://archiveofourown.org/series/377736) starting with Unintended Consequences and moving into Two Volumes of One Book and More than Words to meet Russ, Danny and the rest of the gang. And there's even a t shirt,found here: [Jormungand T](https://www.redbubble.com/people/lakritzwolf/works/23567887-jormungand?grid_pos=3&p=mens-graphic-t-shirt)
> 
> Also Ellen's Stardust Diner is a real place--the food is basic diner fare, burgers and sandwiches and fries and such like, but the portions are generous, the food is good, the prices are reasonable (at least for NYC), and the waitstaff is amazing to watch. And all tips are pooled so the kids can take singing/dancing/acting classes! Here's their website, and take a look through the menu, it's a hoot: [Ellen's Stardust Diner](http://www.ellensstardustdiner.com/)
> 
> And click on some of the links I will provide at the end to get a taste of folk metal. It is awesome!

Ross could feel yet another headache building behind his eyes as Mrs. Chynoweth’s voice bounced off the walls of the grand old church. “No, that simply won’t do, Mr. Hawkins! Why are you insisting on having Elizabeth in the shadows? It is her day to shine, she needs to be in the sun…”

“It’s too much light, ma’am, please trust me on this.” The compact blond photographer was smiling, but there was steel in the sea-blue eyes. “Positioning her in the direct sunlight will wash everything out, even with a filter. And your daughter is so beautiful, that would be a real pity. Don’t you agree, Mr. Poldark?” he added, turning to the groom.

Francis looked startled to have his opinion solicited, but the pleading look from Elizabeth brought out a tender smile. “Yes, Mr. Hawkins, it would. Anna, let the man do his job.” He brought his bride’s hand to his lips and pressed a kiss against her knuckles.

Now it was Ross’ turn to be surprised. This might be the first time during this cluster fuck of a wedding that Francis had actually disagreed with his soon-to-be mother-in-law. He’d stayed quiet as she bulldozed her way through the arrangements, though he’d told Ross privately that they were seriously considering eloping to Vegas. The only thing stopping them was the almighty wrath Anna Chynoweth would unleash on them upon their return. Left to their own devices, Francis and Elizabeth would have kept it low-key--just themselves, close family, and a few friends, with a small reception afterward. 

Anna Chynoweth was having none of that. She would not be cheated out of her only daughter’s big day. And what Anna wanted, Anna got. So Elizabeth wore the elaborate gown her mother chose instead of the simpler one she wanted; there were blue and yellow flowers instead of pink and white; Francis, Ross, and Andrew were in black cutaway coats instead of the silver-gray tuxes they’d planned on; another couple had even been bumped from having their ceremony at the church to accommodate them. And Anna had handpicked the photographer that she was now having issues with. If Francis and Elizabeth hadn’t both begged him, Ross would never have agreed to be best man. He just prayed they would all get through it in one piece, and the happy couple could go on their honeymoon without a murder indictment hanging over their heads.

“Oh, all right,” Anna huffed. “But if they turn out horribly, it’s on you. Proceed, Mr. Hawkins.”

“Thank you. Mr. Poldark, Ms. Chynoweth, look this way, please.” Hawkins took a few shots from various angles, making small jokes to get them to smile. He really did know his stuff, Ross decided. “Now, if the best man and maid of honor could come over here, we’ll get yours done.”

Ross followed Elizabeth’s best friend Demelza to the spot indicated. Smiling was difficult, but another well-timed joke from the photographer brought out a grin, and Hawkins gave him a wink and a thumbs-up. “Gorgeous. You know, this has to be one of the prettiest wedding parties I’ve ever seen. Bride and groom’s parents now, please, and we’ll get a few group shots after that.”

“Can’t any of this wait?” Anna demanded. “You’re wasting too much time, Mr. Hawkins—we are on a very tight schedule here!”

“Oh, put a sock in it, Anna!” snapped Agatha Poldark, rapping her cane on the floor. “Anyone would think this was your wedding, not theirs. Let the boy get on with it if you’re so worried about the time—you’re wasting more of it than he is with your yammering.”

 _Oh shit…_ Ross watched as every bit of color in Elizabeth’s face seemed to transfer to Anna’s, turning it about the same shade as Demelza’s hair. The two matriarchs, never the best of friends, glared at each other, and Aunt Agatha’s knuckles whitened on the handle of her cane. He jumped in quickly before Anna could fire a volley back at Agatha. “Anna, they did ask to have as many pictures taken as possible before the ceremony. And if you think about it, it’s really a good idea. Remember last year, at the party to celebrate Elizabeth’s doctorate? You spent weeks looking for just the right dress, and little Geoffrey Charles spilled punch all over the skirt. You don’t really want to risk that happening again, do you?” He summoned up his most dazzling smile, backed up with puppy-dog brown eyes.

Tension sizzled in the air, and Francis’ sister Verity was holding her husband’s hand for dear life. Finally after what seemed like an hour, though it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, Anna looked away from Agatha to Ross…and smiled back. “Point taken, Ross. Very well, Mr. Hawkins, let’s get these done. But please keep an eye on the time.”

“I have the alarm set on my watch.” Still smooth and professional, Hawkins carried on. Ross decided he must have had a lot of experience with wedding day meltdowns. “So now, Mrs. Chynoweth and Mr. Poldark senior, right here if you please, and…smile!” Several snaps and a big grin, showing off deep dimples. “Excellent!”

Ross didn’t realize that his “Holy mother of god!” had been audible until Demelza stifled a laugh and poked him with her elbow. Hawkins glanced over and smiled again, blue eyes sparkling. Ross looked at Hawkins’ hand--no wedding ring, but that didn’t mean anything. A guy that gorgeous could not possibly be single. Elizabeth said something to Hawkins that made him throw back his head and laugh. Now this was monumentally unfair—the guy’s nose crinkled when he laughed. _So help me, if it turns out he wears glasses, too, I am walking off a bridge…_

He sighed. Shit, he’d been single himself for too long, that was the problem. A good looking face and a nice ass, and he was already halfway gone. Time to get his head back in the game and get through the rest of the day. He was really looking forward to the champagne, though.

Hawkins worked through the rest of the planned photos quickly, and called a halt with twenty minutes to spare. “That should pretty much do it—I may need to borrow a few people during the reception, but I won’t keep anyone from the fun for very long. I’ll see you during the ceremony.”

Hawkins nodded to them all, sent one more wink at Ross, accompanied by a smile that could only be called ‘come hither’, and headed off to wherever he’d chosen to set up for the ceremony. Ross watched him go, and only realized his mouth was open when a gentle hand pushed his chin up.

“Close the hatch, cuz, you’ll catch flies.” Ross flushed, but the glare he shot Francis had no heat behind it. “Very decorative, that one, I’ll give you credit for good taste. Of course, looks don’t mean everything—just look at George Warleggan.”

“If I never have to look at that man again, it’ll be too soon,” Ross muttered. “Why did he get invited to the wedding again? I thought his family was too _nouveau riche_ for Anna to tolerate.”

“Apparently the Warleggans are _riche_ enough to offset the _nouveau_ part in Anna’s eyes. And you of all people know how charming George can be when he wants to. So please, for the love of all things holy and the sake of the family sanity, be nice.”

“Define ‘nice’.”

“Anything short of sending him to Casualty.”

“I think I can manage that…barely.”

“Good enough. And thanks for cooling things down during the picture session. I thought Aunt Agatha was going to bash Anna with her cane. I owe you several for that.”

“Round me up about four paracetamol and a stiff shot of something eighty-proof, and we’ll call it even,” Ross said, massaging his temples. “I really need to get plowed today.”

“After the best man speech, you can get as plowed as you want…in any sense of the word that appeals to you,” Francis said with a lecherous grin that didn’t quite work on his pleasant face. “Seriously, track that Hawkins down and at least have a chat with him. I saw that wink he gave you on the way out.”

“I’ll think about it. Let’s get you out front—it would be bad form to be late to your own wedding.” 

The ceremony was beautiful—Francis’s voice cracked a bit in the middle of his vows, and Elizabeth’s smile could have lit the church all by itself. And to give Anna her due, the whole scene could have come straight out of a glossy wedding magazine. Ross’s eyes kept flicking over to Hawkins, who darted silently about, snapping pictures and filming key moments. Somehow the man always managed to find an angle that was simultaneously perfect for the shot and left him unnoticed by anyone. Once or twice blue eyes met brown, and the dimples came out again before professionalism took over. Ross found himself wishing they could just skip to the end so he could have that suggested chat…and that stiff drink. The man was killing him.

Finally it was over, then it was off to the reception and his time in the spotlight. Ross hated making speeches, so he kept it short and sincere. “Francis, my brother from another mother, I am proud to be with you today as you join your life with Elizabeth’s. Finally,” he added with an arched eyebrow, referring to the extended engagement.

“Glory hallelujah.” Agatha didn’t even try to keep the volume down on that comment. Elizabeth blushed, and Francis laughed, shaking his head.

Ross bowed to Agatha and continued. “But this family is famous for long courtships, long engagements, and very long marriages, so I suppose it’s traditional. My one wish for you both is that the best day of your present be the worst day of your future. Bless you both, and may I suggest that Ross would be an excellent name for your firstborn.”

He sat down amid laughter and Demelza leaned in. “Ross for the firstborn? Even if it’s a girl?”

“Far be it from me to impose gender stereotypes on anyone,” Ross laughed, sipping the now-warm champagne. He saw Hawkins (he really did have to find out the man’s first name—just going with the surname made the guy sound like a butler or chauffeur) taking candid shots around the room with a smaller camera, making good use of his telephoto lens. And that telephoto lens seemed to be pointed in his direction a lot. Probably wishful thinking on his part, but now he really needed that drink.

The time had come for the new husband and wife’s first dance, and Ross took the opportunity to head for the cash bar. He had to hand it to Anna, he thought as he perused the selection—she didn’t stint on this bash at all. “Double Macallan, neat,” he told the bartender. He turned his head as someone came up beside him, and grinned. “And whatever Mr. Hawkins is having."

“Just a Coke for me, please. And thank you, Mr. Poldark.”

“Name’s Ross.” He held out a hand.

“Jim. Pleased to meet you—informally, at least.”

“Same here. You sure I can’t get you something a little stronger?”

Jim shook his head and took a sip of his Coke. “I don’t drink while I’m working…though I have to admit after today I’d seriously consider bending the rules a bit.”

“Yeah, Anna can be a bit…intense.”

“’Intense’ is one word for it,” Jim agreed. “I’ve dealt with more than one bridezilla, but I think this might be my first mother of the bridezilla. I’m a little sorry for the groom.”

“Don’t be,” Ross said, letting the scotch warm a trail into his belly. “Francis and Elizabeth are going to be an entire ocean away from her soon—Elizabeth got a teaching post at Columbia, and Francis is transferring to the company branch in New York. And Anna passionately hates New York—too full of Americans and foreigners for her taste. Crass colonials and all that. Francis and Elizabeth can’t wait, however—they’re already planning out all the touristy things they’re going to do on the weekends.”

“Tell them to try the Circle Line tour of New York Harbor. The Statue of Liberty near dusk is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. And if they’re looking for a fun place for lunch or dinner one day, they have to hit Ellen’s Stardust Diner on 51st and Broadway. The kids who work there are all theatre types, and they perform song and dance routines while you eat.”

Ross grabbed a cocktail napkin and asked the bartender for a pen. “Dinner and a floor show--I’ll let them know. Thanks for the tip. Sounds like you know New York pretty well.”

“I know some of New York, but not as much as I’d like. I’m hoping one day to go over and stay for a good stretch. My big daydreams center around a photo exhibit in a New York gallery. I think I’m a ways away from that, though.”

“It never hurts to have a goal. And I’m glad they caught you as their photographer before you hit the big time.”

“The maternal peanut gallery was a bit much, but I have to say, they were lovely. Can I ask how you got roped into this? I mean, they had to pay me good money to be here and take the shit—what kind of blackmail material did they have on you to get you to be here?” 

Ross laughed and took another sip of his drink. “Francis is the closest thing to a brother I’ve ever had—his parents pretty much raised me after Mum passed. He taught me to fight so the kids who wanted to pick on the ‘little faggot’ got more than they bargained for. I’ll love him forever for that alone. Elizabeth and I bonded in school over a love of music and a hatred of the French professor. I was her date to the final spring dance because I could actually dance, I looked great in a tux, and I could be trusted not to try anything funny if she had a drink too many. If I swung that way, I’d be jealous as hell of Francis. As it is, I couldn’t be happier for them. They’re each getting the best.”

Ross finished his drink and signaled the bartender for another one. “It looks like there’s an unoccupied table over there. What do you say we take our drinks and get comfortable?” 

“Sounds like a plan—my feet are killing me.”

With fresh drinks in hand, they settled in, and Ross asked Jim, “So what’s your story? The wedding gigs are paying the bills, I take it, but you have your sights set on a brighter horizon. What made you take up a camera instead of something sensible like chartered accountancy or professional bull leaping?”

Jim laughed, and Ross had to tear his gaze away from the adorable nose crinkles. Concentrating on the gorgeous blue eyes and golden curls wasn’t much less of a distraction, but it was better than nothing. “My dad gave me my first camera when I was about seven, one of those little throwaway ones. I thought it was just the coolest thing ever—the things I saw and loved would never go away. I’m pretty sure I used up all my pocket money for a couple of years getting new ones. He and Mum gave me a proper camera when I was ten, and I haven’t looked back since. And it satisfies my creative urge. I can’t draw or paint, but I can create something beautiful all the same.”

Blue eyes shone and the sheer joy of his craft radiated from Jim as he spoke, and Ross found himself smiling in return. “I’m a little jealous of anyone that can take a good picture. Mine always come out a bit off-center or out of focus, no matter how hard I try. You don’t give lessons, do you? Or is that like giving away trade secrets?”

“Well, I’ve never tried to give lessons before, but there’s always a first time.” Jim took a card and a pen out of his pocket and jotted down a number. “There’s my shop number and website, and that’s my mobile. Give me a call and we’ll see what we can set up.” He slid the card over to Ross, and fingertips touched for a fraction longer than necessary. There was a promise of…something…in Jim’s smile, and Ross couldn’t quite decipher it, but he knew he’d have a lot of fun figuring out the keycode.

He didn’t have his phone with him—Anna had decreed a ban on mobiles for the wedding party, saying it ruined the lines of the clothes—so he slid the card into his pocket. “Thanks, I’ll take you up on that soon. So are you going to let me see some of your brilliance?” he asked, nodding toward the camera. “This is digital, I’m guessing.”

After a brief hesitation Jim unslung the camera and Ross scanned through the pictures. “Oh, Francis is going to love this one,” he said, stopping at one of Elizabeth with her head turned toward her husband, the light giving her a semi-halo. “He already pretty much thinks she’s an angel; this will confirm it.” Ross flicked through a few more pictures. Jim had an excellent eye for composition and lighting. He came to several shots in a row featuring himself, and he felt his face heat up. “I never knew I could look that good; thank you,” he said, not quite daring to look directly at Jim.

“What would make you think that? You’re very photogenic.”

Ross almost didn’t answer, then the words pushed themselves out. “The scar. I was in an accident a few years back, and I haven’t much liked having my picture taken since then.”

“Seriously? You’ve got this whole swashbuckler thing going with that. It’s very attractive, and the camera loves it. I’d love to do a photo shoot with you in costume some time.”

Ross finally did look up at Jim, and saw he was completely sincere. “Are you flirting with me, Mr. Hawkins?”

Jim smiled, and Ross felt like he’d been punched in the gut. “Depends, Mr. Poldark—is it working?”

“I think it might be.”

“In that case, yes, I’m flirting. So tell me, what sort of music did you and Elizabeth bond over?”

“Oh, mostly classics—Aerosmith, Thin Lizzy, Van Halen…”

“Diamond Dave or Van Hagar era?”

“Nothing against Sammy, but Diamond Dave was a better front man, even if he was a loose cannon and the rest of the band pretty much hated him.”

“Yeah, they just weren’t as much fun after he left,” Jim agreed. “Have you been keeping up on Thin Lizzy? They got themselves a new drummer.”

“I heard--Scott Travis! I’ve never gotten to see him in concert, but his videos with Judas Priest are outrageous. I don’t understand how a metal drummer can come off looking so Zen.”

“Doesn’t he, though? Both feet going, both hands going, huge drum kit with a double bass in front of him, and he could be out for a stroll in the park for all he seems to be paying attention.” Ross started to laugh, and it was Jim’s turn to flush. “Sorry, I’m being a fanboy here, but I do love good drums. That’s another love that started way back when—my folks took me to see Mötley Crüe when I was a kid, and Tommy Lee had a rig that would fly over the stage when he played. My ears rang for two days, even with earplugs in, but it was awesome.”

Ross’ headache was a distant memory, and his Macallan sat untouched on the table as he and Jim talked. Jim waxed eloquent on the talent and breathtaking physical attributes of the drummer from Equilibrium, which led to a discussion of folk metal. Ross was a recent convert to the genre, and they compared notes on Julian Lehmann (‘how does he make electronics sound so…real?’), Korpiklaani (‘did they ever meet a drink they didn’t write a song about?’), Amon Amarth (‘when are they going to do a full film based on their video for Father of the Wolf?), and Tyr (‘why haven’t the fundamentalists tried to burn them at the stake yet?’).

Jim had just gotten out his phone to show Ross a clip of an up-and-coming Viking metal band when they were interrupted by a smooth whiskey-tinged voice drawling, “Well, well, isn’t this cozy?”

Ross looked up and steeled his face into a neutral expression. “Hello, George.” Under the edge of the table, his hands clenched into fists. He felt Jim’s toe nudge his and oddly, that grounded him. “We’d ask you to have a seat, but as you can see, there isn’t one.” _Just turn around and leave, you sodding bastard…_

“Oh, I can’t stay, I just came out to get a drink. Must have something to get me through the tedium.” George sighed—he always was given to a touch of the dramatic, Ross thought. And to think he’d once found that attractive. 

“There’s really nothing stopping you from leaving, you know, George. I’m sure you could come up with a good excuse. You must have a business to foreclose on or something.”

George tsk’d, shaking his head with an indulgent smile that set Ross’ teeth on edge. “Now, there is no need to be unpleasant, Ross. I am rather sorry you’re otherwise occupied. I had hoped we might take this opportunity to catch up under a flag of truce, as it were.”

“I don’t think we have anything to catch up on.” Ross willed one hand to relax and picked up his glass to toss back the last of the scotch. _Thick as two short planks—what does it take to get him to realize he’s not wanted here?_

“At least you can let me buy you and your companion a drink, for old times’ sake.” For the first time George took a good, if somewhat bleary, look at Jim. “Excuse me, but … have we met? You seem somewhat familiar.”

Jim looked up from his Coke, in the depths of which he seemed to have been contemplating the secrets of the universe, and Ross saw a twinkle of mischief snap into the blue eyes. “Yes, we have, but I’m not surprised you don’t really remember. You were not entirely sober at the time.”

“What a shock,” Ross said under his breath.

George ignored him, keeping his gaze on Jim. “Pray enlighten me. I’d hate to think I was inebriated enough to forget such a charming young man.”

“All right. About a year ago, I was hired to take pictures at another reception, and I was lining up a perfect shot of the bride and groom. It was going to be one of my best ever. And a hand comes out of nowhere and grabs my arse—hard. I screamed, whipped around, and caught him in the eye with the hand holding the camera.”

“Did you break it?” Ross asked. “The camera, not the eye—that would heal.”

“No, the camera was fine, but the man got a beauty of a shiner, and he was throwing threats of a lawsuit at me—how dare the hired help do that, and so on. I wasn’t worried—there were a lot of witnesses, and the bride’s father got him calmed down once he sobered up. The whole ‘public embarrassment’ thing. I got a very nice apology from the bride and groom, and got paid extra for the gig, so it could have been worse.”

The pieces fell into place for Ross. “You said this was about a year ago? The Penvenen wedding?” Jim nodded, and Ross rounded on George. “You said you were staying home because I was going to be out of town for it. I felt so bad for you when I got home and saw that black eye. You told me you got mugged!”

Jim snorted out a laugh. “Well, he kind of…did.”

“I can explain, Ross…” George stammered out, and took a step back when Ross started to rise from his chair. 

“Ross, don’t. He’s not worth it,” Jim said. “And I think being decked by the ‘hired help’ was enough punishment.”

Ross looked at him, and the blue eyes were calm and even amused. He looked back at George. “The only reason you’re not bleeding on the floor right now is because I promised Francis no one would end up in Casualty today because of me. Go get your drink and walk away. Now.”

George opened his mouth to say something, but shut it promptly under the heat of Ross’ glare. His swagger was a little forced as he headed to the bar, and there wasn’t another glance in their direction as he left to rejoin the reception.

“Well, I can see why he’s your ex,” Jim said when they were alone again. “Wanker.”

“He is, and I won’t waste any more of this day thinking about him. Especially when I have much better things to think about.” 

Jim returned his smile with interest. “Glad to hear it. I have to go back and do a few more candids, but I should be done soon. How much longer do you have to stay?”

“I promised Demelza a dance, and I have to say goodbye to Francis and Elizabeth, but I can duck out in probably half an hour.”

“Maybe we can get some dinner together, and I can show you that video of Jormungand. The drummer is absolutely mental. If you like them, they’re going to be doing a gig at a festival this weekend. I can get tickets—I’ve got an in with the organizer. I’ve done some work for him in the past.”

“Sounds like a great time. Let’s meet back here in half an hour.” They rose from their chairs, and Ross added, “And thanks for making this day better.”

“My pleasure—in every way. See you soon.”

Jim slung his camera back around his neck and walked away with a backward smile for Ross. Ross took their glasses back to the bar and headed into the reception hall. Demelza’s bright hair was easy to spot in the crowd, and he slid up beside her. “May I have this dance, Ms. Carne?”

“I thought you’d never ask, Mr. Poldark,” He swept her onto the dance floor, and she added, “I haven’t seen you for a while—we thought you’d done a runner.”

“Just taking a breather. Has Anna managed to calm down yet?”

“I don’t think she’s going to until Francis and Elizabeth have left for the airport, but the three glasses of champagne seem to have taken the edge off, at least. Did your breather help?”

“A lot.”

“Glad to hear it. A bunch of us were going out for a bit after this is over to decompress. Did you want to come?”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass. I’ve already got plans,” Ross answered, glancing over to where Jim was snapping more pictures. Demelza followed his gaze and laughed.

“So that was your ‘breather’.”

“It’s not like that,” Ross protested. “We just talked for a while, and we’re going for some food when he’s done here.”

“Well, that’s not a bad idea. I’m not sure what Anna ordered in for this do, but I’m not sure it qualified as food. Have a good time, you earned it today. And I expect a proper introduction soon.”

“Oh, I think there’s going to be plenty of time for that.” Tonight was about dinner and convivial company, with good music in the future. After that, events would unfold as they saw fit. Ross was in no rush. The day might have started with clouds, but the silver lining had been worth the rain.

**Author's Note:**

> OK, links that I hope will work to introduce you to some of these awesome musicians:  
> [Scott Travis](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2nLOQzBN-Fw)
> 
> [Equilibrium, this video is a hoot!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5bYMAgM42pM)
> 
> [Julian Lehman; full album Mother Nature](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3CTs3XDGTQo); seriously consider buying the album and supporting him if you like him, he's really amazing.
> 
> [Korpiklaani; Vodka](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e7kJRGPgvRQ); this was followed up by their hits Beer and Tequila...not even kidding
> 
> [Amon Amarth, Father of the Wolf](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KwdcFVsmYtU)
> 
> [Tyr, Hold the Heathen Hammer High](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fu2bgwcv43o)


End file.
